


Pieces Form the Whole

by swaps55



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:25:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swaps55/pseuds/swaps55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of mShenko vignettes, ficlets, prompts, etc. from my tumblr blog. Posted in the order they're written, so the chronology is all over the map. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stars

The first time it happens, Kaidan wakes up to find Shepard sitting at the side of the bed, shoulders hunched, contours of his body bathed in sweat, trembling so violent and hard Kaidan thinks he might fly apart.

“Shepard?” he says in alarm.

“I can’t breathe,” Shepard wheezes, nails raking the back of his neck for a helmet that isn't there. “God, I can’t _breathe_.”

Starlight gleams through the shutters.

~

_What is it like to remember dying?_

It’s something Kaidan never thought about before this. Before _them._ But now he notices how Shepard never looks up, never lets his gaze stray to the canopy of stars in his quarters.

When Kaidan thinks of Alchera he thinks of snow, billowing flakes washing out his vision as he trudges between escape pods searching for survivors, wind eroding the imprints of his boots until no trace of his passing remains.

When Shepard thinks of Alchera he thinks of stars.

Stars that never fade.

~

The massive geth dreadnaught is tiny against the surrounding net of stars.

Kaidan listens to Shepard breathe, harsh and hollow over the comm. Through the camera mounted on his helmet Kaidan can see the floating exudate, gaseous clouds of dust and metal particulates from the ruined docking tube.

Shepard’s heart rate spikes. Condensation clouds his faceplate.

Kaidan switches to a private audio feed. “Shepard,” he says. “I’m here. Just breathe.”

~

Shepard cannot see the stars in his sleep, but he feels them. His defenses go down when he dreams, and the stars yawn through the shutters, bright and terrible and threatening to swallow him whole.

~

A low moan pulls Kaidan out of sleep. He rolls over to find Shepard curled beside him, chin tucked to his chest. Faint starlight lims the ridges of his spine, enough that Kaidan can glimpse the abnormal outline of the metal plates holding him together. Shepard’s hands claw at the back of his neck, a gesture Kaidan has become too agonizingly familiar with.  

_Damaged seals. Losing oxygen._

The breath rattles in Shepard's throat.  A thin layer of sweat clings to his skin, though he cannot stop shivering. Kaidan slides closer, molding his body to him and threading him with his arms. His hands reach up and close gently over Shepard’s rigid fingers.

“It’s all right,” he whispers, guiding their hands down and wrapping them protectively around Shepard’s chest. Kaidan can feel the thump of his heart, the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“Breathe. Shepard, _breathe_.”

 _How many nights_ , he wonders. How many nights did he go through this, alone in the dark?

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, until the trembling stops and his body stills. “And I’m never letting go.”

 

 


	2. Before/Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When did you know? About me.”
> 
> Kaidan draws in a breath. The answer to that is something he’s held close to the vest for three years.

"Can I ask you something?”

Kaidan shifts a little. The weight of Shepard’s leg has put his foot to sleep, and he braces himself for the inevitable pins and needles. They’re lying on the couch, Shepard with his back against Kaidan’s chest, discarded datapads wedged into the cushions around them. Two empty beers sit on the coffee table. They’ve both said something about getting up to get fresh ones, but Shepard hasn’t moved and Kaidan sure isn’t going to encourage him to. 

“You’ve never had to ask if you can ask me a question before,” Kaidan tells him. The report he’s got in his hands has something to do with troop movements in Attican Beta. It’s important, but he hasn’t actually looked at it in the last twenty minutes.

“Before was…different.” Shepard finds his free hand and threads their fingers, squeezing as though looking for some kind of reassurance. Kaidan finally abandons the pretense of the datapad, dropping it to the floor, and drapes his arm across Shepard.

Shepard’s right, of course. Before was different. Before there was no this. No them. The feel of Shepard against him is still new, still surreal, but he marvels to think that of all the things it is, the one thing it isn’t is strange. In fact the two of them together like this feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

“Ok then…shoot.”

Shepard hesitates for a moment, something Kaidan hasn’t expected to discover about him. For all his surety in command, on the battlefield, here, when it’s just the two of them, Kaidan often gets the feeling Shepard is waiting for the other shoe to drop. As if he expects Kaidan to change his mind.

As if Kaidan would ever change his mind.

Shepard leverages himself up, scoots around so that he’s leaning against the back of the couch, chin propped in the cup of his hand, elbow sinking into the cushion. He looks Kaidan in the eye, free hand flat against Kaidan’s chest.

“When did you know? About me.”

Kaidan draws in a breath. The answer to that is something he’s held close to the vest for three years.

One dark eyebrow raises. “Loaded question?”

“No,” Kaidan replies, wiggling his now-freed foot as tiny needles accompany the return of blood to his numbed skin. “Just…incriminating. I guess.”

Shepard waits expectantly, blue eyes patient but unrelenting. It’s a look Kaidan is used to, but in a decidedly different context. Kaidan thinks back to the beginning, the first time Shepard approached him on the crew deck, posture relaxed, expression not so different than it is right now, despite being unconscious in the med bay only hours before while visions from a prothean beacon crawled around in his brain.

“Eden Prime,” Kaidan says softly, fingers brushing Shepard’s jaw, thumb catching on the stubble there.

Shepard’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Kaidan’s lips twitch in a halfhearted smile, heart clenching a little as he thinks of the time they’ve lost by waiting this long, until the world is coming down around them and what little sand remains in their hourglass runs too quickly through their fingers.

Shepard reaches for him, again with that unexpected tentativeness, as though he’s afraid to find out the whole thing’s been a dream. Kaidan closes his eyes as Shepard’s fingers find his hair, and in that moment the time they’ve lost seems so insignificant compared to the time they have now. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

It’s Kaidan’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “I may be a little idealistic, Shepard, but I’m not an idiot. You didn’t feel the same way. Then.”

"Before.”

“Yeah.”

Shepard smiles a little. “You’re patient.”

“You’re worth it.”

Shepard falls silent, what should have been a compliment seeming to strike at some hidden insecurity that Kaidan hasn’t been able to smooth away. Yet.

The galaxy’s hero, unable to accept his own worth, even coming from someone who loves him.

Kaidan shifts again, fingers coming to rest lightly on Shepard’s shoulder as the realization, lurking in the back of his mind ever since seeing Shepard on Earth, finally hits home. They haven’t said it. Might not for a while. But that doesn’t change the truth of it.

“When did you know?” he asks.

Shepard thinks for a moment, the architecture of his face shifting in ways Kaidan isn’t familiar with, and he marvels at the sight. Shepard’s thoughts are usually so protected, so well-concealed behind the mask of Commander Shepard, that to see him so open and expressive is perhaps more intimate than any physical touch they’ve shared.

“Mars,” he says finally.

Kaidan grimaces a little. “We must be remembering Mars differently, then. I seem to recall a lot of questioning your loyalties and getting my ass kicked by the mech who now controls our life support systems.”

Shepard’s brow furrows just a little, the hand that had moments ago been running across his scalp now hooking loosely around the back of his neck. “I almost…lost you. Thought I had lost you.” He drops his eyes. “I was angry after Horizon. And on Mars. Angrier than I had any right to be. It wasn’t until I saw you lying there that I understood why.”

Kaidan reaches out and catches Shepard’s chin with the tip of a finger, gently raising it up until their eyes meet. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment without speaking, until Kaidan finally breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry.” 

For Horizon. For Mars. For what’s come before. For everything.

“No,” Shepard says. “Don’t apologize.” A small smile crosses his face. “If anything I’m just sorry I was so dense. It might have saved us a lot of trouble.”

Kaidan grins and opens his mouth to respond, but Shepard fills it before he can get the words out. He is warm and moist, traces of lager rolling over his tongue, soft sigh building in is throat. Kaidan drinks him in, relishing in the texture of his lips, the small shiver that runs through his body when Kaidan returns the kiss with the same intensity. 

“It was worth the wait,” Kaidan murmurs. He loops both of his hands around Shepard’s neck. “Let’s stop worrying about before. Focus on now.”

“Now is good,” Shepard says, leaning into him once more. “Now is very good.”


	3. To the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I feel like we’re not blending in.”
> 
> Shepard looks over at him in mild amusement. “What do you mean?”
> 
> Kaidan waves an arm. “We might be the only two people in this place without an umbrella in our drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from storyhoard on tumblr: Happy endings with a beach and a bar.

Kaidan takes a pull off his beer, eyes drifting lazily around the beach.  White crested waves ride sapphire water as it rolls ashore and mingles with the white sand that lies in its path, the soothing sounds of its eternal ebb and flow reminding him a little of the drive core on the  _Normandy._ But there definitely aren’t seagulls on the ship.

The sun is bright but not quite blinding, a few wisps of stray cloud drift across an otherwise clear sky, and the air smells so strongly of salt Kaidan can feel it seeping into his skin. A handful of lounge chairs lie scattered about, some occupied, some already claimed by towels and ostentatious beach bags. The resort is remote, even for Bora Bora, but Shepard has not gone unnoticed. A few tourists shift regular, furtive glances their way, though if Shepard has noticed he doesn’t let on. Instead he sits on the stool he’s claimed at the bar, glass of whiskey in hand, eyes trained on the horizon, posture that of someone who has been told to relax but doesn’t really know how. 

He’s also still wearing a shirt, much to Kaidan’s disappointment, Alliance blue and stolen from Kaidan’s suitcase. The scars from Shepard’s stand on the Citadel are still raw enough and sharp enough that he doesn’t enjoy calling attention to them unless they’re alone.

At first Kaidan hadn't thought Shepard was enjoying himself, but the skin at the corner of his eyes is smoother, his hands don’t fidget like normal, and rather than inhale the whiskey he’s content to just sip at it. The signs may be subtle, but Kaidan has learned how to pick them out.

He doesn’t say much. Shepard is quieter these days, as if he’s used up most of his words on threats, diplomacy and speeches. Now that it’s over, time for someone else to do the talking. So Kaidan does. He talks about weather. The book he’s reading. The latest update from Tali on Rannoch. Laughs at Garrus’ dealings with turian bureaucracy, because guess who got stuck liaising between the turians and the new Krogan Empire. 

Shepard listens. Smiles. Occasionally interjects with a comment, sometimes just seeks out Kaidan’s hand and squeezes it tight. Right now they sit in peace, _peace –_ Kaidan remembers when the concept seemed like a lie – listening to the waves stroke the shore, and Kaidan wonders at how the man beside him, who has always been so defined by frenetic movement, can be so still.

A breeze wanders by. Behind them on the other side of the bar comes the sound of clinking bottles. An asari wearing a silk sarong approaches and places an order, her gaze straying to Shepard as she waits for the bartender to make her drink. She doesn’t say anything – thankfully – and within short order she takes a glass with something red inside of it, topped with a pineapple slice and a green umbrella, and heads back to her lounge chair. Kaidan watches her go, or more accurately, he watches the umbrella. 

“I feel like we’re not blending in.”

Shepard looks over at him in mild amusement. “What do you mean?”

Kaidan waves an arm. “We might be the only two people in this place without an umbrella in our drink.”

Shepard follows his gaze, noting that even though the population is sparse, the ratio of umbrellas to beverages is exorbitantly high. Without a word he gets up, turns, leans over the counter and nabs two umbrellas from the bartender’s stash tucked under the ledge of the bar. He plinks a blue one down in Kaidan’s beer, a red one in his whiskey.

“Better?”

Kaidan grins. “Much.”

The bartender, a well-tanned kid who has been trying not to stare ever since they sat down, gingerly picks up the container of umbrellas and sets it up on the bar. “T..take as many as you want, Commander,” he manages.

Shepard nods and tips his glass in thanks. The bartender nearly faints, and quickly busies himself wiping down glasses. Kaidan hides a smile. As soon as the kid’s shift ends everyone he knows is going to find out he spent the afternoon serving drinks to the Savior of the Galaxy.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Shepard asks, impervious.

“Sure,” Kaidan answers, surprised at the suggestion. Though Shepard hides it well, the reconstruction Miranda did on his left leg still causes him enough pain that his physical therapists stopped referring to him as the Savior of the Galaxy in favor of _That Pain in the Ass in Room 212_.

But today must be a good day. Shepard takes him by the hand and strolls to the shoreline. Kaidan’s eyes stray from the blue water to the palm trees and tropical vegetation layering the gently rising hill behind them. The resort cabins blend right into the bright, floral foliage. He makes a mental note to thank Liara for finding the perfect spot to relax. Heal. Rest.

For the first time their future isn’t uncertain. He doesn’t go to sleep at night mentally calculating how much time they have left, constantly worrying that he’s let some moment slip past, didn’t enjoy it to its fullest or appreciate it enough. He doesn’t have to wake up in the morning wondering if they’re out of tomorrows.

He glances sideways at Shepard. Remembers the finality in his eyes. The stiff armored gauntlet against his cheek.

_No matter what happens, know that I love you. Always._

He lets out a shaky breath as Shepard stoops to pick up something nestled in the sand. On his way back up he grimaces, and Kaidan offers a steadying hand, thankful that Shepard was distracted enough not to notice his maudlin slip.

Shepard brushes the sand off of whatever he’s found and holds it up.

It’s a seashell. Perfect, scalloped shape, brushed with gold and violet hues. Shepard’s lips twist in a bittersweet smile that Kaidan doesn’t understand.

“You ok?”

Shepard brushes his thumb across the shell’s ridges, then tucks it securely into the pocket of his swim trunks.

“Yeah,” he replies after a moment, then turns with a conviction in his eyes Kaidan hasn’t seen yet in the months since the reapers fell. “Everything’s good.”

Shepard takes Kaidan by the hand, tugs him closer and leans in to murmur in his ear.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Kaidan smiles. “I know. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”


	4. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [jupiter-james](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james): Shepard and Kaidan playing footsie.
> 
>  
> 
> Kaidan is a professional.
> 
> Shepard...not so much. 
> 
> This isn't your typical schmutzy footsie. These two play to _win_.

It’s going to be one of  _those_ days. The kind where Kaidan cannot fathom how Shepard managed to end a three hundred year old war and ease a few centuries of hatred simply by being himself. Because the Shepard straightening his dress uniform right now is the one who punches quarian admirals in the stomach.

Shepard scowls at his reflection in the mirror. “Why the hell did we agree to this?”

“Because Wrex asked you, and Councilor Tevos asked me.”

Shepard looks at Kaidan’s reflection in the mirror. “She just wants in your pants, you know.”

Kaidan gives him a withering look. “I can’t help it that between the two of us, she prefers my charm over your lack thereof.”

Shepard grumbles something that Kaidan doesn’t ask him to repeat.

“You’re doing this to help Wrex,” Kaidan informs him as he laces his boots. “You’ve got a lot of pull with the Council—”

Shepard snorts.

“—and he needs an ally in that room who can handle politics without headbutting.” Kaidan tilts his head. “Ok, so now I am confused. Why _did_ he ask you?”

Shepard throws his discarded hoodie at him and scores a direct hit. “I cured the damn genophage. Why does he still get to ask me for favors?”

Kaidan neatly folds the hoodie and lays it on the bed. “Because he’s your friend. Helped you kill your clone…fought for Earth.”

More grumbling. Kaidan plans to strangle whoever put him in such a shittastic mood right before a meeting with some of the highest level diplomats on the Citadel.

“You realize we could be spending the evening on the couch in front of the fireplace.”

“Are you ready yet?”

“Or in the hot tub. Because I have a goddamned hot tub.”

Oh, Kaidan knows.

Shepard walks out of the bathroom, still wearing an expression that could turn back a krogan army. He pauses by the bed long enough to rumple the carefully folded hoodie, daring Kaidan to say something. He merely sighs.

“You look good, Shepard.”

Because he does. Goddamnit he does. Petulant rage and all.

“Bite me, Major.”

Shepard is halfway out into the hall before he sticks his head back in the bedroom. “Which, by the way, is _another_ thing we could be doing.”

God _damnit_.

~

Surprisingly, by the time they reach the conference room Shepard seems more like his normal self. He smiles – thinly, but he smiles – and shakes delegate’s hands without breaking them. When he spots Wrex he actually grins, and for a moment Kaidan thinks the meeting might not be quite the disaster he’s anticipating.

That hope fades when Sparatus reveals a mind numbing agenda that’s a mile long. Convincing the volus to rescind tariffs on goods shipping to still-ravaged systems. Convincing the salarians to pull some of their resources off of reaper salvage efforts to help the turians reconstruct comm buoys near Palaven. Convincing the _turians_ to devote one of their remaining dreadnaughts to transporting stranded elcor back to Dekkuna.

And naturally, krogan expansion ranks at the end of the list.

Kaidan rubs the bridge of his nose.

For the first hour he listens to the politicians drone. But their voices quickly fade into the background behind the incessant tapping of Shepard’s datapad against the table. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Kaidan grits his teeth. When he can’t take it anymore his hand shoots to the side and grabs the datapad, pushing it forcefully down onto the table. He can feel Shepard’s look without having to turn his head.

Shepard abandons the datapad and shifts in his seat. As he does so his foot smacks Kaidan’s under the table. Kaidan shoots him an exasperated glance, to which Shepard merely shrugs an apology and turns his attention back to Valern, who is in the middle of some apparently important point about the unique alloys found within a reaper hull.

A second later Shepard’s foot hooks Kaidan’s heel and tugs it in his direction. Startled, he turns. Shepard gives no sign that anything is amiss, rapt gaze now fixed on Valern.

Under the shadow of the table his foot now works its way up Kaidan’s ankle.

_“_ What the hell are you doing,” Kaidan mutters under his breath, yanking his leg away. Instead of responding, Shepard’s foot snakes out once more, causing Kaidan to jump.

A few heads turn their direction.

“Everything ok, Major?” Shepard asks.

Oh. Now it’s _on_.

“Fine,” he replies, keeping his tone light.

Under the table it’s his turn to go on the offensive. He slides his own foot overtop Shepard’s, brushing at the laces of his boots before pinning him to the floor. The only outward sign Shepard gives is a quick flick of his eyes, and a small but victorious curl of his lips.

Ok. Now it’s _really on_.

Whatever Tevos has to say about volus and their godforsaken tariffs, Kaidan misses it completely. Because Shepard thinks he can fit his foot up the leg of Kaidan’s dress pants, and there is _no way_ he’s letting him get away with it.

There’s also no reason why it should be turning him on so much. _In the middle of diplomatic negotiations_.

Kaidan is going to _kill_ him. Or pin him to a wall. Whichever ends up being more convenient.

By the time Wrex gets up to speak Kaidan’s brains are so scrambled he’s not sure he can form real words, much less sentences. But Shepard, god _damn_ that bastard, gets up and gives some response to Sparatus’ attempt to block krogan settlement efforts that’s not only coherent, it’s fucking _eloquent_.

When he sits back down he doesn’t look at Kaidan, but he _smirks_. At least until Kaidan snags his heel right as he sits down, almost causing him to slip right out of his chair.

Now Kaidan is the one smirking.

It’s all he can do to keep from leaping out of his seat once Tevos dismisses them. Shepard starts to head in Wrex’s direction, but Kaidan snags him by the back of the collar and steers him for the door.

“Problem, Major?” Shepard asks, voice low and deep in the way that makes Kaidan’s toes curl.

“Shut up and walk. You’d better _pray_ there’s a skycar waiting.”

“I’d love to know your plan if there isn’t.”

Thankfully Kaidan doesn’t have to think of anything, because when they reach the Rapid Transit station and there _isn’t_ one, Shepard’s hands fist in Kaidan’s shirt and they somehow find themselves in an alleyway he didn’t even know existed, especially on the Presidium, and then he can’t think anymore.

Because Shepard has pinned him against the wall, hands over his head, mouth pressed against his, tongue pushing through his teeth. Kaidan moans, no idea if anyone can hear them and beyond giving a damn, especially when Shepard’s mouth moves to his neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there as he pushes his thigh between Kaidan’s legs.

“You planned this,” Kaidan groans, arching into him and loathing how many buttons there are on his dress uniform. “You fucking _planned_ this.”

Shepard’s tongue finds his collarbone and Kaidan shudders. His hands are still pinned above his head, which is good, because the things he’d be doing with them otherwise could definitely get them arrested, Spectres or no.

“I _told_ you we could be doing other things tonight.”

 


	5. Patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years, two lives, and the end of the world hasn't changed any of it.

They fall back into their usual patterns so easily. Kaidan can’t believe it actually, as he kneels down beside Shepard inside a prefab unit that’s still standing, med kit out, frantically trying to manufacture yet another suit patch with his omnitool. Bullets zing past outside, some of them Cerberus, some of them Garrus and Vega, who are holed up on the opposite side of the street and a little farther down. There’s nothing quite like the angry chatter of the marine’s beloved Revenant.

“Sit still,” Kaidan orders as Shepard shifts, anxious to get back to the fight, eternally kinetic regardless of whether or not he’s using his amp.

“I’m fine,” Shepard calls over the din, and hefts his shotgun as proof. It’s only Kaidan’s firm hand that keeps him seated. He’s mastered the art of one-handed patch jobs.

Shepard sounds happy, _happy_ , as if turning himself into a biotic projectile and flying into a hoard of centurians means all is finally right with the world.

“You’re not _fine_ ,” Kaidan argues, as a grenade detonates near the doorway, sending shards of metal screaming through the air. Shepard knocks him to the side, shielding them with his back and a flare of biotic energy. Kaidan swears.

“Your shield emitters are fried – _again –_ and you’re overclocking your amp.”

Shepard grins, though the dust collecting on his faceplate almost makes it hard to see it. “You worry too much.”

“Someone has to!”

He finishes the patch. Garrus has the main body of Cerberus troops pinned down for the moment inside another prefab at the end of the street. Vega lobs a few grenades, cackles with glee when they detonate and send streams of red gore billowing out the shattered windows.

_Everyone around me is insane._ Whatever Cerberus wants from Benning, as far as Kaidan is concerned they can _have_ it.

Shepard gets to his feet and peers briefly around the edge of the doorway before ejecting a used thermal clip and tapping at the back of his neck. There’s a look in his eyes that fills Kaidan with dread.

“You need to let your amp cool down before you do that,” he warns.

The smirk Shepard tosses him makes his heart skip a beat, and _damn_ him for knowing it would. “What exactly do you think I’m going to do?”

“What you _always do_.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Why do you _always say that?”_

“Because you’re watching my back.”

Kaidan opens his mouth to argue. Close it again. Because he’s right. It’s what Kaidan _does_. From the day they first set foot on Eden Prime to now. The stabilizing force to Shepard’s demagogic nature. Watching his six. Yanking enemies off his flank. Priming Shepard’s target so that by the time he reaches it, his biotic energy can shatter it into pieces.

They intuit each other’s actions in ways that seem uncanny, each knowing what the other will do often before they know themselves. Two years, two lives, and the end of the world hasn't changed any of it. They’ve picked up right where they left off. Same patterns, but different context. Because now the stakes are higher if they fail.

And he doesn’t mean their mission.  

Shepard cups the side of Kaidan’s helmet with one hand, his features softening ever so slightly behind the faceplate. Because he understands. He _knows._ “Kaidan. As long as you’re here I know I’m coming home.”

Kaidan lets that wash through him, swallows. “Right, so this is where you butter me up. Tell me you can’t do this without me.”

Shepard tilts his head, sounding almost confused. “I can’t.”

“ _Right._ Says the person who led a suicide mission with no casualties. I wasn’t there to look after you then.”

A fiery blue corona erupts around Shepard’s body, sending a seething push of dark energy crackling into the air. “When I was with Cerberus I didn’t care.”

It takes Kaidan a moment to digest this. Remembers when Garrus tried to reach him after Horizon. _He’s Shepard, Alenko. But he’s different. Something’s…different._ His thoughts fly back to Mars. To the Illusive Man. _You were a tool. An agent with a singular purpose._

Anger boils somewhere down deep, and his own corona blazes to life. By then Shepard is already gone, a plume of blue trailing in his wake as he flies like a missile through water. And Kaidan is already after him. Because it’s what he does. What he’ll always do.

 


	6. Faraway, So Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [mythicbeast](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mythicbeast): Kaidan after the Control ending. 
> 
> This fic hates happiness. Also puppies. 
> 
>    
>  _It's about surviving, and not._

It’s about surviving, and not.

Because Shepard doesn’t. Not really. The Shepard who always skips the bottom step to the bedroom area of his quarters, talks to his hamster when he thinks no one is looking, can’t brew a pot of coffee to save his life, deliberately mismatches Kaidan’s socks – that Shepard died the moment the Crucible fired. The one left in his wake is someone – some _thing –_ Kaidan doesn’t recognize. Feel. And definitely doesn’t understand. The ghost in the machine that would be god.

Because Kaidan does, but not really. Sure, he wakes up every morning before his alarm goes off, just like Shepard used to do. Looks Hackett in the eye during their briefings and tells him he’s fine. Fit for duty. And Hackett has no choice but to agree. They are too fragmented, too thin to worry about the capabilities of one soldier when he needs them all.

It doesn’t matter that it hurts to breathe. That he wakes up early because he never really slept the night before. That anytime someone mentions Shepard’s name he has to leave the room. That when he wades through Earth’s death and debris he does so under the shadow of monsters, guided now not by unknowable, incomprehensible purpose, but by the hand that once fit so perfectly against the small of his back, that rested against his cheek as a voice he’ll never hear again told him, _know that I love you, always_.

He cannot reconcile how the artificial demons they’ve been chasing for so long are now all he has left.  

~

Kaidan functions. He works. The more he works the less he feels, especially when Hackett gives him the _Normandy_. The first night he spends in their cabin alone he lasts twenty minutes before he goes to sit in Starboard Observation. He’s still there when Cortez comes looking for him in the morning. He offers no explanation, and Cortez doesn’t ask.

_You’ve lost a lot of weight_ , Joker observes. Kaidan orders him to fly the damn ship and leave the physicals to Dr. Chakwas. It’s not twenty four hours before she brings it up, too. _It’s okay to grieve, Major,_ she tells him. _But you have to remember to look after yourself, too._

He looks her right in the eye and tells her he’s fine. 

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s _fine._

~  

It’s about rebuilding, and not.

Because Shepard does. Moves his Reaper pawns like torches to weld the fragments of a shattered galaxy back into a recognizable shape. Sometimes Kaidan even believes it’s Shepard, especially when Elysium is the first colony to report Reapers repair efforts. But those brief moments of recognition, when Shepard is there but so far out of reach, are the hardest to take. 

Because Kaidan doesn’t rebuild, not really. All the pieces he’d intended to rebuild with are now sovereign nations scattered amongst the stars.

~

Tali comes aboard when they transport a team of quarian scientists to Rannoch. She’s been worried about him, she says. Wants him to be happy. Shepard would want him to be happy.

_He’s still out there_ , she tells him. _Whatever part of him is still Shepard—_

Kaidan stops her before she finishes, fingers clenched into fists, his smile so brittle and tight he’s amazed his face doesn’t fracture.

~

It’s about moving on, and not.

Because Kaidan can’t, no matter how hard he tries, if he tries at all. 

It’s supposed to get better with time. That’s what Liara tells him. Garrus. But every minute, every second that passes feels the same. Empty. Rudderless. Maybe, if Shepard had actually _died,_ Kaidan could move on. But he didn’t. He’s out there, watching, thousands of red eyes and singing horns, so close, so out of reach, and Kaidan wonders all the time, _all the fucking time_ , how much he can still see, feel. Wonders if he knows. 

That some small, traitorous part of him hates Shepard for choosing the galaxy over him.

~

He can shoulder so many of Shepard’s ghosts. The model ships. The N7 hoodie that still hangs in the closet where Shepard left it before putting on his hardsuit that last time. The hamster that squeaks every time he walks through the door. The goddamned fish he overfeeds.

But when the Council sends word that one of the capital ships orbiting Eden Prime started transmitting a signal through an Alliance frequency, he discovers the one he can’t face.

_They think it’s a message,_ Traynor says, unable to look him in the eyes. _They think it’s for you_.

He could decipher it if he tried. He’s almost certain of it.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

~

It’s about dying, and not.

Because Shepard never did, not really. And late at night when Kaidan gazes out at the stars, all they do is remind him that whenever he finally gets to the afterlife he’s always wanted to believe in, no one will be waiting.

 


	7. Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regardless of whether Garrus saw it before, there’s no mistaking it now.

Garrus sits at the Silver Coast Casino bar, the one on the upper level near the dance floor with the bartender that makes the best sandstorm cocktail on the Citadel (just enough hostra, mixed dirty and topped with a splash of orra for color), and wonders how in the _hell_ he missed all the signs.

Was it a human thing? Well, of _course_ it was a human thing, but. Garrus liked to think he’d picked up on a few ticks and tells in his time on the _Normandy_. Humans are a little quirky, but they aren’t that complicated.

And even if there was some giant clue he’d blundered right on past, how the _hell_ had his closest friend _failed_ to mention it? It’s not like they’d gone on a suicide mission together or anything. It’s not like there’d been plenty of opportunity while Garrus had rambled on and on about reach and flexibility to speak up. _Hey, Garrus. Funny story. Remember our biotic lieutenant on the SR-1, the one who chokes on his own integrity while simultaneously robbing everyone blind at the poker table? The one whose uniform is so starched I don’t know how he can sit down half the time but when I do something really stupid like walk into Helena Blake’s base and tell her to fuck off when she’s surrounded by mercs, he picks up the one who’s about to cleave my head open and has the grace not to rub my face in it later? I think I’m a little in love with him. Crazy, huh?_

Garrus kicks back a little more of his drink, already contemplating another. Shepard and Alenko sit at a table next to the bar, shoulders hunched, foreheads close but not quite touching, though their personal spaces intersect in ways that need no translation. The way their hands brush every time one of them reaches for a drink– casually but never accidentally – the way their knees knock whenever one of them shifts in their seat – far more often than is probably necessary – and the accompanying smile that lifts years off Shepard’s face, all say it perfectly clear. In fact it’s the smile that gets Garrus most. He hadn’t realized just how tired, just how weary Shepard’s grown over the years until that smile showed up.

Turns out Apollo’s serves something a little better than just a good steak sandwich.

Okay, that’s a bad joke even for him.

Shepard laughs, head tilted back, the pure sound of it carrying over the din. For just a moment his hand slides across Alenko’s lower back in a rare, open display of affection, and the Major’s eyes dart to him with a look that transcends facial architecture and cultural disparity.

Some things are just universal.

Regardless of whether Garrus saw it before, there’s no mistaking it now. All he’s still trying to sort out is how two people go from nearly killing each other to being the only thing holding the other’s head above water. That one’s a little harder to wrap his talons around. He wonders if either of them have it figured out, or if it even crosses their minds in the first place. Better not to ask. Better just to let this one go for as long as it can. Spirits know the last thing Shepard needs is something else to go wrong.  

Alenko ducks his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as Shepard says something only he can hear.

This one’s not going wrong. Not any time soon. It’s just too bad it didn’t come together sooner. It might have saved everyone a little grief. Though maybe, these things only come around in their own time. Don’t line up your shot right and you not only miss the target but drive him into cover, and more often than not you never get another chance.

Ok. He’ll admit it. He’s a little envious.

“We can’t take them anywhere anymore, can we?” a voice says. Garrus snickers in amusement, pushing the empty chair next to him out with a foot and sliding over a glass of Blue Silenian he’s got ready and waiting, just the way Tali likes it.

“Seems that way. The best part is how discreet they think they’re being.”

She takes a seat with a grateful sigh, humming with delight at the sight of the drink. “You know me too well, Vakarian. My feet hurt. My back is killing me. I love the _Normandy_ , but overhauling that drive core is a bigger chore than realigning the thruster manifold of a first generation _Goval_ class frigate. I’ve been dreaming about this drink all day.”

“Even comes complete with its own emergency induction port.” 

Tali chuckles. From his table Shepard catches Garrus’ eye, grins, and raises his glass. Garrus does the same.

“How crazy is it that in the middle of all this insanity, those two find each other,” he says. “What are the odds?”

“About the same as killing a reaper with a thresher maw, making peace with the geth, finding reaperized rachni and Cerberus attempting a takeover of the Citadel?”

Garrus ponders this, stirring his own drink with his own emergency induction port. “So what you’re saying is the odds are actually a lot better than I give them credit for?”

She clinks her glass against his. “The _Normandy_ exists in its own space time continuum, Garrus. We make our own odds. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Garrus doesn’t see it, but from his seat beside Alenko, Shepard is still grinning.

Some things are just universal.  


	8. Maybe I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two trips to Noveria is two too many.

Kaidan nearly dozes off on the elevator ride to Shepard’s cabin. If he wasn’t so damn cold, he probably would have. Noveria’s chill has a way of seeping through your hardsuit and wearing you out right down to your bones.

The bitter cold makes all the typical aches and pains he feels after a mission flare up tenfold, muscles cramped and knotted, tendons and ligaments brittle, skeleton feeling more like a pane of glass with a crack running through it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be warm again.

Two trips to Noveria is two too many. 

When the door slides open he expects to hear the shower running, see the familiar pile of N7 armor outside the bathroom door. He’s half right.

Kaidan can trace Shepard’s steps through the carefully laid trail of discarded armor.  His helmet lies on its crown on the floor. The black chestplate sits on the desk chair, an array of new dimples sprayed across the ablative that makes Kaidan wince. One gauntlet – the one with the telltale red stripe – lies abandoned on the stairs. The other one’s been cast off on the bed.

Shepard himself sits on the couch, still fully armored from the waist down, shoulders sagged against the cushions, right foot planted on the floor, left resting awkwardly on the coffee table.  His eyes are closed, head resting against the back of the couch as if the very thought of holding it up exceeds whatever physical reserves he’s got left.

He hasn’t bothered with the lights, and the soft glow of the fishtank makes his skin look frighteningly pale. It’s not often Kaidan has ever seen him look so…fragile. Human.  In an odd way, it’s actually comforting.

“Hey,” Kaidan says. “There you are.”

“I shouldn’t have sat down,” Shepard replies, without opening his eyes.

“Know the feeling.”

Kaidan makes his way around the gauntlet and down the stairs, grimacing when his knee locks up and forces him to hop down the last two with the grace of a wounded elephant.

“Knee?” Shepard asks, cracking one eye open.

“Mmmn.”

Shepard readjusts his body to make room for Kaidan, face contorting when the leg on the table accidentally shifts.

“Hip?” Kaidan asks, sitting heavily beside him. Shepard grunts his confirmation, hands Kaidan a pillow to slide behind his back without Kaidan needing to ask for it.

Kaidan slumps against him with a sigh, happy to exchange unforgiving ablative for the warmth of Shepard’s skin. Which is when he finds another reason to hate Noveria.

“Damn, you’re freezing,” he says with a chuckle.

“Yeah,” Shepard says, smiling. “Well, your lips are blue.”

“I’m sure there’s a suggestive comment I could make right now about that, but, sorry, Shepard. I’m too tired.”

Shepard turns his head, buries his nose in Kaidan’s hair. Kaidan can feel his breath down the length of his neck. It’s warm, and he shivers.

“Good. Because I am, too.”

Kaidan tries to slide an arm around him, winces when he abducts the deltoid. Shepard picks his head up, eyebrow raised.

“That one’s new.”

“Yeah,” Kaidan mutters, rubbing the offending muscle. “I think it was the phantom. Almost had my guts on a stick. Thanks for the save, by the way.”

Shepard leans his head against Kaidan’s temple, working an arm behind his back and hooking cold-stiff fingers around the other man’s waist. “I got you.”

They let their exhaustion do the talking for a few moments, each searching for some spark of heat under the ice of their skin. It doesn’t take long. With Shepard, it never does.

Kaidan slides a hand across Shepard’s stomach, jerks it away when he flinches.

“Turret,” Shepard explains, tugging his undershirt up out of the lower half of his armor with his free hand to reveal the beginnings of an ugly bruise splashed across his abdomen. “Turns out you shouldn’t charge those things.”

Well. That explains the divots in his chestplate.

“Guess neither of us bounces like we used to.”

A laugh builds in Shepard’s throat. “Between the two of us, maybe we can scrounge up enough parts for one working body.”

“Hey, when we’re old and crotchety you lean against me and I’ll lean against you. That way we can both stand up.”

“Yeah,” Shepard murmurs after a pause, and there’s something distracted and heavy in his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Sounds kind of nice, actually.”

They lapse into wistful silence as Kaidan finds himself suddenly thinking about a future that might never exist: Shepard, the deep furrows of his brow etched permanently deeper with age, skin weathered where it was once smooth, lean muscle gone soft. The aches might be sharper, but the things and places that caused them just a distant, faded memory. No damaged armor. No bone-chilling cold.

Just them.

Shepard’s arm tightens around him. “Hey. What’re you thinking about?”

“You,” Kaidan replies, tracing Shepard’s jawline with his fingers. They’re still cold, but Shepard doesn’t shy from the touch. “How good you’ll look with a few decades on you.”

Shepard doesn’t respond, and all the things he doesn’t say settle in Kaidan’s stomach like a knot. When he speaks his throat is dry.

“Ever think about the future, Shepard?”

Shepard takes his time before responding, gaze wandering the dimly lit cabin without finding something to settle on. For a long time the only voice is the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

“Hard to imagine getting old,” he says finally.

That one sentence hits Kaidan like the recoil of a Claymore, even though it somehow doesn’t surprise him. Shepard’s lived his whole life like a star ready to go nova, always on the verge of total gravitational collapse. Stopping it would be like shutting down the sun.

But then Kaidan thinks about what Shepard’s voice would sound like with a little more gravel, rough as sandpaper but a laugh as smooth as whisky. About hair grown long enough to run fingers through, the strands faded to the color of smoke.     

And he’s willing to try.     

Shepard flexes the armored knee still resting on the coffee table, bracing his hip against the flare of misery that results as he reaches for a blanket folded up on the opposite end of the couch. Kaidan shoves to his feet, leans over and grabs it for him, shaking it out and draping it over them both as he sits back down. It’s warm and thick and helps chase away some of the lingering chill.   

“Nothing wrong with old age you know,” Kaidan tells him, nestling against the crook of his arm. “You just have to get there.”

“Who knows,” Shepard murmurs. “Maybe with you, I will."


	9. Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shepard and Garrus talk about ostriches, and Kaidan somehow isn't surprised.

Shepard thunks into a seat in the mess with his third cup of coffee in hand – thick as tar and barely compatible with levo consumption according to Alenko – and scowls moodily at the table. Garrus knows that look. Few things can extract such a frustrated grimace from Shepard, but every last one of them has to do with politics.

Garrus and Alenko exchange glances, then subtle nods.

“Went that well, did it?” Kaidan asks, rubbing Shepard’s back while Garrus’ subvocals thrum almost inaudibly on a register he will mostly likely interpret as, _I can set up a hit if you want me to,_ because that’s what friends are for.

Shepard smirks at Garrus, shoulders relaxing slightly under Alenko’s ministrations.

“The Council is somehow convinced that burying their head in the sand is the best possible strategy in every single scenario,” he grumbles.

Garrus tilts his head, perplexed. “I’m sorry – why would anyone bury their head in sand? That sounds…uncomfortable.”

“You know,” Shepard says with a careless wave of his hand. “Like an ostrich.”

“A _what?_ ”

“An ostrich.”

Alenko sits back and starts fiddling with his omnitool, already acknowledging that visual aids are going to enter in to the conversation sooner or later.

“The _bird_ ,” Shepard insists, eyebrow quirked as though he’s amazed he has to explain it.

“A bird that arbitrarily sticks its head in the ground. And I’m expected to just…get that reference?”

“Well, you are basically a bird, Garrus.”

Alenko snorts. Garrus flicks a mandible. “Actually, Vega says I’m a dinosaur.”

“This is an ostrich,” Alenko explains, holding up his omnitool, which displays a still image of an ugly conglomeration of black feathers stuck by two spindly legs and a disturbingly long neck with a bald head that looks like it’s dying of a terminal disease.

“That,” Garrus says, with a trill of distaste, “is what you think I look like, Shepard?”

“We love you for your character, buddy.”

Garrus gives him a withering look. “So this thing sticks its head in the sand…for what?”

Shepard shrugs. “So its enemies can’t see it.”

Both mandibles flare. “And that works.”

“Well,” Shepard says, tone outrageously reasonable for someone making an argument that sounds completely insane, “we still _have_ ostriches, so something about that strategy must work for them.”

Garrus taps a talon against the tabletop. Alenko clears his throat. Shepard continues to smirk.

Finally Garrus can’t take it anymore, and throws a hand in the air. “ _How_ can you possibly think I look like _that?”_

Shepard shoves to his feet, smirk broadening into a grin, and heads to the coffee pot for cup number four. “Granted, you don’t have feathers, but you have to admit. You’ve taken a missile or two to the face. There’s not a lot to distinguish you from an ostrich.”

“I’d like to see an ostrich nail a headshot on a phantom.”

With his new cup of coffee poured, Shepard heads back to the CIC and casts a look over his shoulder. “If you find one that can, I’d like to meet it.”

Garrus mutters something under his breath. When Shepard disappears inside the elevator, it’s Alenko’s turn to smirk.

“Nice work. Is that a new record?”

Garrus considers this for a moment. “Well. There was the time we made him forget about that incident with the batarian by using bracketology to name his new fish.”

Alenko’s eyes widen. “Oh, that _was_ a good one.”

Garrus nods toward the galley. “Did you switch the coffee to decaf?”

“Two cups ago.”

Garrus curls his talons and reaches across the table. Alenko bumps them with a closed fist.

“Always a pleasure to work with you, Major.”

“Likewise, Archangel.”

Alenko goes back to his latest supply line assessment. Garrus goes back to the latest intel passed along by the Hierarchy. Somewhere up in the CIC, Shepard thinks about Garrus with a wad of black feathers around his carapace and snickers.  

 


	10. Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'What do you see in me, Kaidan?'
> 
> Post-Thessia ficlet, written for Shepard's birthday celebration on tumblr.

Thessia will never come off his skin.

There is not enough hot water and soap, not enough heroics, not enough revenge, to ever scrub away what they’ve just been through.

Kaidan half expects the door to Shepard’s cabin to be locked, but it isn’t. When the door slides open he’s met with dark, broken only by the broken glow of the fishtank.

Shepard sits on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, still in armor, one leg propped awkwardly out front, helmet resting in his lap. He stares straight ahead, not even acknowledging Kaidan’s presence. Part of Kaidan thinks he should go – this is an intrusion, a private moment of grief he has no business witnessing. The other part of him catches a glimpse of despair on Shepard’s face and can’t fathom leaving him to bear this kind of weight by himself.

He moves down the stairs, steps across Shepard’s legs and takes a seat beside him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “There you are.”

Shepard doesn’t turn his head. Just stares straight ahead, expression made of stone.

The silence is heavy.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Right now time feels nebulous, like physics have taken a hike and left everything in limbo.

When Shepard speaks its little more than a whisper, voice cracked and hoarse.

“What do you see in me, Kaidan?”

The question takes him off guard, and for a moment all he does is stare at his hands in his lap, a million thoughts flying apart in his mind.

He thinks about being late to a debriefing because Shepard spotted a model ship kit on the Citadel he didn’t have. About the shitastic coffee that’s perpetually in the mess because Shepard will dump out any pot that isn’t thicker than tar and doesn’t taste like ship fuel. About the bad hip that’s managed to follow him from one life to the next, because Shepard still hasn’t figured out how to land on his right. How Shepard’s still never afraid to take that fall. About the small box he keeps near his bed that contains one datapad – a datapad that holds a copy of every thank you, every well wish anyone’s ever sent him. The way he folds all his clothes with military precision but deliberately mismatches his socks. How the corner of his eye twitches whenever he has to talk to the Council. How it takes him forever to fall asleep, but once he does you can’t wake him with a bomb. The smirk. That goddamned _smirk_ that sends heat pooling at the base of Kaidan’s spine _every. single. time._

Kaidan slips an arm around him, having to swallow the urge to laugh, because the answer is so incredibly simple.

“Everything.” 


	11. Sunrise

Too much haze hangs in the air these days. Even with a little distance from the fall of the Reapers, they still make their presence felt. The air never feels crisp, blue sky muzzy when it should be sharp – especially this time of year.

But they’ve timed it perfectly – white blossoms smother the neat rows of honeycrisp trees, cherry trees unfurl with clouds of rose-hued blooms. On their first afternoon Shepard wanders the grounds with wide eyes, occasionally plucking a blossom and rubbing it against his fingers while Kaidan’s mother watches them from the porch and smiles.

“Sorry,” he mutters when he realizes he’s being watched by not one, but two Alenkos, “I’ve…never seen anything like this before. My mom talks about growing up in St. Louis sometimes. But I’ve never been. Never been much of anywhere, really.”

_Except London_.

Kaidan doesn’t answer. Just kisses him. Slow and deep, full of all the things he wants to say.

~

They sleep with the windows open. The night is cool but not unpleasant, and Shepard is a warm ember against his chest. The breeze carries _life_ on its wings, a scent he’d tried to explain to Shepard and failed.

“Hey,” Kaidan whispers into his neck. “Smell that? Isn’t it great? That’s what I was talking about.”

Shepard doesn’t ask what the hell he means at two in the morning. Instead he draws Kaidan’s arms tighter around him and exhales.

~

When Kaidan wakes up he’s alone, and his gut clenches. When Shepard isn’t there it’s too easy to think of London, to think of the Citadel, weeks of waiting and wondering and refusing to hope.

It’s still dark, the first rays of sun just beginning to venture above the horizon. Breath catching, heart thudding a little too quick, he fumbles for some shoes and a shirt. Finds the latter, gives up on the former.

The house is silent, his mother still asleep upstairs. Clean dishes from last night’s home-cooked meal – brisket, just like she used to make when he was a kid – remain neatly stacked in the drying rack beside the sink. The sofa is empty.

Kaidan heads for the front door, not surprised to find it unlocked. Sure enough Shepard sits outside on the porch, lounging on the metal loveseat with worn out paisley cushions, eyes on the sky.

“Hey,” Kaidan says. “There you are.”

Shepard spares him a quick glance, lips quirking in a crooked smile. “Sorry. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

He shakes his head as Kaidan slides in next to him, and settles an arm around his shoulders. “No. I just…wanted to see this.”

“See what?”

Shepard gestures with his hand. “Sunrise. You know I’ve never just…watched one.”

Kaidan settles against him. “Well, then I’m glad I didn’t miss it.”

They fall silent as the bruise-blue predawn sky fractures with shots of amber and pale crimson, chasing away flecks of remaining stars with pools of blended color. When the sun crests the horizon its luminous face is an eclipse of gold, chasing shadows out from under the bows of waiting trees and shimmering through their blossoms until they gleam like flakes of fresh snow.  

Shepard doesn’t make a sound, just grips Kaidan a little tighter.

“What do you think?” Kaidan asks, voice low. “Worth getting up so early for?”

“No,” Shepard says after a long pause. “It’s worth everything.”

 

 


	12. Zip Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt. I took a few liberties, but I think this is in the spirit of things at least. :)
> 
> Thanks to Sinvraal for the armor assist.
> 
> Basically safe for work, despite the implication.

Kaidan drops his helmet on the floor of the armory in front of his locker, the few steps it took to get him there from the shuttle a few too many. He’s about to plant his butt on the bench in what he is sure will be a rather undignified display until Shepard grabs him by the gauntlet and tugs. For a moment he ponders trying to grab the discarded helmet – to the bitter end Kaidan is someone who thrives on order, and having his helmet in one place with the rest of his hardsuit in another is like sandpaper to his brain – but Shepard is not exactly the kind of person you put off.

Guess he’s changing in Shepard’s quarters tonight.

~

Turns out it’s actually AM, not PM, which is just another sign of just how exhausted they’ve become. Maintaining any sense of a normal circadian rhythm is a crapshoot at best when you work in space, but when your foe is a giant army of AIs who don’t have circadian rhythms in the first place, it makes the concept of time all the more abstract.

So craving a steak and a beer at nine in the morning isn’t so insane, he supposes.

They ride the elevator up to deck one in still silence, Shepard’s head resting against the wall, Kaidan’s armored hand trapped in his. It’s a symbolic gesture; it’s only the sensors on Kaidan’s hardsuit that register the contact, but Kaidan has learned to take comfort rather than resentment from it. So much of their time together is clinical when you practically live in a hardsuit. Touches are replaced by locator pings, the thrill of a racing heart reduced to an alert from his bio sensors. Even Shepard’s breath in his ear gets replaced with a facsimile manufactured by the comm.

It’s not exactly romantic, but it makes what comes after – one they’ve exchanged their armor for skin – that much…more.

When the doors hiss open, Shepard pulls Kaidan into his quarters, their steps slow and heavier than they used to be back when all they had to deal with was Saren and a few rogue geth. Shepard drops into the chair in front of his desk with about the same amount of grace Kaidan was expecting from that bench, his helmet striking the ground with a dull thud. For a moment, Kaidan is mildly chagrined that Shepard’s armor is all in one place.

A wry, half smile quirks Shepard’s mouth, and he tugs Kaidan down so his ear is flush with Shepard’s lips. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, no facsimile this time, just real, warm breath that raises goosebumps on his arm. “I’ll get it for you later.”

Kaidan wonders how the goosebumps register in Shepard’s hardsuit. Irregular heart beat? Spike in adrenaline?

…sometimes he forgets to leave the clinical behind.

But as Shepard runs a gauntleted thumb over his forehead, the sensors in his fingers no doubt sending him feedback about what Kaidan’s skin is supposed to feel like, it starts coming back to him.

He catches Shepard’s hand, eyes roving his face, taking in the things his hardsuit doesn’t tell him. The lines in his forehead that are getting deeper, the sheen in his eyes that’s getting duller, and slowly feels for the catch that will release the gauntlet joint. It gives with a soft snick, and Kaidan twists. Pulls until it disconnects from the vambrace. Sets it on the desk. A few moments later one of Kaidan’s joins it.

Now instead of the textured map of ablative there’s nothing both smooth skin. Kaidan skates his thumb across Shepard’s knuckles and jumps at the spark of static that results. Shepard’s wry smile becomes a smirk, and Kaidan flushes a little as he runs his fingers more insistently across each bony ridge.

“That’s science, Shepard,” he murmurs. “Not attraction.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Kaidan chuckles a little, fingers moving to Shepard’s other gauntlet, reluctant to abandon warm skin in favor of a cold exoskeleton.

It’s a necessary evil.

Once both sets of gauntlets have been discarded Shepard reaches for his right vambrace. Kaidan stops him with a cluck of his tongue.

“I got you.”

The ablative encasing Shepard’s arm is cold, hard, its sleek, black surface marred by the wear and tear of heavy use and field repair. Scuffing from a last minute dive into cover on the underside of the left bracer. A dent from a bullet that had wormed its way through Shepard’s kinetic barriers just below the elbow on the right. Scouring on the torso from a grenade that detonated a little too close. A thin skid of a slightly different shade of black along the right pauldron where Shepard patched a crack that was the result of a handsy brute that Garrus nicknamed ‘Karma.’

He removes each piece of Shepard’s hardsuit one by one, uncovering their flesh and blood beneath the ablative and reactive armor, life support and environmental controls. Each one tested to its limits at one point or another. Each one holding the line. Each one patched and repatched, their sole function to save Shepard’s life one more time.

The entire suit is a tapestry of war with Shepard as its common focal point. Sometimes it feels like Shepard is the only focal point, the crux upon which the galaxy turns, and they’re just one breach away from total collapse.

One breach. One Alchera.

Kaidan’s not sure when he stopped caring about what happens to the galaxy. He just cares about stopping that breach. The fact that stopping one prevents the other is somehow inconsequential. He’s not sure how he feels about that. He’s always been a greater good kinda guy.

Shepard brushes a finger along Kaidan’s cheek. “You’re thinking awfully hard about something.”

Kaidan shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s a something-nothing,” Shepard replies, kind but firm. He looks down at his still-armored chest, catching Kaidan tracing a fresh divot just above Shepard’s heart.

Kaidan’s throat feels dry. It takes time to parse his thoughts into words. Too much time, enough to fray his nerves even more. But for someone whose short fuse is nothing less than legendary, Shepard is remarkably patient when it comes to the sometimes arduous process of piecing together Kaidan’s abstraction into something concrete. He watches. Waits. No trace of the hard angles he stares down his enemies with.

How many people have even seen this softer, tender side of Shepard? How many people know it even exists?

He draws a deep breath, wondering if the slight tremble he feels is hidden by his hardsuit, deciding it probably isn’t. “Most advanced suit money can buy,” he says at last. “Is it enough to stop an entire galaxy that wants you dead?”

Shepard doesn’t answer right away. Instead he catches Kaidan’s chin and pulls him closer, kissing him soft and deep.

The bastard thinks he’s so good at misdirection.

When they part, he guides Kaidan’s hand down to his groin, where the chestplate and lower trunk interlock. Ordinarily it’s the source of a joke, but neither of them are feeling particularly juvenile at the moment, which only agitates Kaidan even more. The lewd jokes are fun. 

“Can’t worry about things you can’t control, Kaidan. It does its job. I do my job.”

The seals hiss as the torso unlocks, and Kaidan removes and discards it a little more carelessly than he means to. “Right. Of course. The job. Yes. Can’t ever forget the job.”

“Hey,” Shepard says, tugging again on Kaidan’s chin until he has no choice but to look Shepard in the eye. “Hey.”

Kaidan forces himself to exhale. He’s normally better at controlling moments like this. When the stress and the exhaustion and the selfishness get in the way of what’s supposed to be more important. 

Shepard cups Kaidan’s fingers against the palm of his hands, then gently splays them and guides them to his newly barred chest, where all that now separates their flesh is the thin, white cloth of his undershirt. Underneath, Kaidan fees the thump of Shepard’s heart. Real now, not a stat feed.

“Feel that?” he asks.

Kaidan nods.

“It’s yours. For however long I’ve got it. The rest is…whatever it is.”

Kaidan actually chuckles in spite of himself. “That is really not reassuring, Shepard. You continue to be actually terrible at comforting your anxious lover.”

Shepard waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, right, I know. That thing, with the leopard. And spots. But.” He stops waving and holds up one finger. “Doesn’t change how much I love you. And I think I’m pretty good at that, if I do say so myself.” He pulls Kaidan down until he’s straddling Shepard’s still-armored lap, the exposed mechanisms in the hip joints whirring audibly as they flex. Shepard’s still half-armored, Kaidan still mostly armored, and somehow it seems oddly appropriate for an intimate conversation like this.

“Maybe,” Kaidan says with a sad smile, hands drifting down Shepard’s chest, finding the hem of his undershirt and snaking their way up until they find skin. Soft, warm skin. “So what you’re trying to say is, we just need to live in the moment and not worry about the rest, huh?”

“Yeah,” Shepard agrees, hands sliding up the trunk of Kaidan’s hardsuit, another sensation he has to manufacture in his mind instead of feel.

He leans in close, and whispers in Shepard’s ear. “Then get the rest of this armor off.”


End file.
